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The Rubyiat of a 
Freshman 'jfh 

Hf C; WITWER 



The Collegiate World 
Publishing Company 

CHICAGO 

tMnr. Va 



Copyright 1921 by 

The Collegiate World Publishing Company 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


GEC 1 2 1921 


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The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


First Semester: Sociology, Money 
and Banking 


Enroute Hoorah College. 

Dear Pater: 

Well, in a few more hours I’ll be standing be- 
fore the portals of dear old Hoorah, where I’m 
to spend the worst part of the next four years, 
provided, of course, that nothing untoward oc- 
curs to your bankroll. You will be careful, won’t 
you. Dad? You cannot imagine what a com- 
fort it is to me to know that you were — er — 
tight across the chest, as Uncle Joe says laugh- 
ingly, and saved your money so that I could 
begin putting it freely into circulation now. Of 
course, Dad, you may be sure that I will do that 
to the royal family’s taste, as I realize I owe you 
the joy of knowing daily that your son is in a 
position to spend with a lavish hand and deny 
himself nothing. How your eyes will shine with 
pride when I send you next month’s bills! I 
wish I could be there to share your pleasure, but 
perhaps it is better this way. 

Coming out here on the train I met a fine 
bunch of fellows who are all going to Hoorah. 
One of them was “Bunny” Williams, the inter- 
scholastic sprint champion, and, pater, you would 
hardly believe how friendly and democratic he 
was with everyone, in spite of the fact that he is 

[ 7 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


said to have done a hundred yards in less than 
nine seconds! He has already promised to teach 
me how to strike a heroic attitude and compose 
my features smilingly when I break the tape at 
the finish of a race, so that the photographs of 
the same will not show me strained and uncom- 
fortable, as I naturally would be if I was not 
looking at the camera. 

Then there is “Narrow” Hayden, a tall, slim, 
long-haired and poetic-looking fellow, who is a 
tortoise-shell spectacle addict and gives the ex- 
ternal appearance of a gloomy grind and who 
was fired out of prep school either four or 
eighteen times for studying Snappy Stories in- 
stead of algebra and etc. 

All the other fellows admitted being distin- 
guished in one way or the other and of course I 
allowed my imagination to gambol about with 
theirs. The result was that lies flowed like water 
and if Ananias had been there he would prob- 
ably have taken carbolic acid out of pure pique. 
The talk finally drifted to our fathers, some of 
which who art in Heaven, but on the whole 
many very complimentary remarks were made 
about our respective parents, considering the op- 
portunity we had to knock. It seems that most 
of these fellows’ masculine parents are associ- 
ated with J. P. Morgan and Jack Rockefeller and 
the poorest of the lot is down to his last billion. 
They boasted in a gentlemanly way, if that can 
be done, about their ancestry, but, Dad, 1 made 
them all quit when I disclosed the fact that you 
operated a garage and automobile repair shop. 
They all looked awed at being in the company 

[ 8 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


of the son of a direct descendant of Captain 
Kidd. In an effort to put them at their ease, I 
suggested an informal crap game. Well, Pater, 
to make a long story short (clever expression that 
and a bit new, what? ) I was practically the host 
at this game and lost some of the hundred dol- 
lars you gave me — $98.75 to be exact. So you 
can see that I am holding my end up in good 
shape and falling quite naturally into the ways 
of millionaires’ progeny. I have made up my 
mind, Pater, that I will never disgrace you by 
acting as though I were poor, as you will readily 
see from the first bills I send you. 

Apropos of “send,” please send me $150 at 
once, as I want to get some dancing pumps and 
other little accessories to my studies. You can 
charge the $150 on somebody’s repair bill under 
the head of “labor” as usual, you know. 

Well, I will have to close now as “Narrow” 
Hayden has in some way become acquainted with 
two girls who are extremely easy to gaze upon 
and he is going to introduce me to them, although 
he doesn’t know that yet. In my next letter I 
will tell you all about my studies, professors, 
quarters and all that sort of rot. So far, I like 
college life immensely! 

Your affectionate son. 


[ 9 ] 


TOM. 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


The Elite Garage & Repair Shop 
562 Eighth Avenue 

All Bills Payable the Minute You Get ’Em 

If Our Work Pleases You Tell Others, If It Don t 
Tell It to Sweeney! 

Let Us Repair Your Car and You’ll Never Take 
It Anywhere Else 

Dear Tom: 

What’s the idea of callin’ me pater, and you 
must think I’m runnin’ a counterfeitin’ plant by 
the way you’re goin’ through the jack I give 
you. Them hundred bucks was supposed to 
last you the majority of this term and you will 
not get another nickel from me ’til you grab off 
a couple of prizes for tuition, algeometry or some 
of them classical studies, and that’s that! The 
idea of a kid your age gamblin’ for money. I 
am sendin’ you to college to become a doctor 
or like that and not no crapshooter. I have told 
you a million times to lay off them crap games, 
as you don’t seem to get the knack of holdin’ 
one of the bones between your thumb and fore- 
finger so’s you can make a pass every time. 
Don’t you dare get into any more of them 
African golf tourneys, at least not ’til I have 
sent you the loaded ivories with which I am 
wrongly accused of winnin’ my garage. 

I don’t know what put it into your head that 
I am anxious for you to get rid of as much sugar 
as possible whilst you are a inmate of that college 
and you have got that part of it all wrong. In 
the contrary, I figured you could prob’ly no 

[ 10 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


doubt get a job on the football nine or the like 
at a good salary and thusly pay your own ways 
through college. Only the other day I seen a 
picture in the paper entitled “Harvard’s Gridiron 
Hopes” and the sons of some of the country’s 
most comfortably fixed millionaires was in it. 
Now if them babies aint too stuck up to go to 
work at football and the etc. so’s to make a hon- 
est livin’ at college and not live on their father, 
they’s no reason why you can’t and will. You 
couldst pick up the gift of football as quick as the 
next one, Tom, as on your mother’s side they was 
all athletics and from the way they was con- 
stantly knockin’ me I’m sure they was the greatest 
hammer throwers in the world! On my side, 
Tom, we was more on indoor yachtin’ than 
physical culture. Your Uncle Joe, which made 
that crack about me bein’ tight, was the cham- 
pion checker player of Wayne County, Pa., and 
he was the athletic of our family. 

I am puttin’ a money order for a hundred 
berries in this, which shows I am on the brinks 
of softenin’ of the brain and you want to show 
some ingenuity in holdin’ on to this, because it 
is the final donation, get me? Don’t get in no 
arguments with them professors and the etc. like 
you do with me or they will give you the rasp- 
berry and if you get throwed out of college I 
will take your Uncle Joe’s kindly advice and park 
you in a reform school and be done with it. Of 
course, Tom, I am only saying this in a fatherly 
way and for your own good and no such thought 
ever entered my mind, but at the same time, 
Tom, don’t get the idea that I wouldn’t do it. 

[ 11 ] 


The Ruhyiat ofa Freshman 


Well, be good and remember your poor father 
never got no college education and as a result 
has got to pay a income tax, the figures of which 
sounds like the English population of London! ^ 
Your father (where d’ye get that pater 
stuff? ), 

PATRICK FRANCIS CULLEN. 

(Radiators Fixed a Specialty. Not Responsible 
for Limousine Bodies Left on Cars Being 
Repaired.) 


LOGIC, FINANCE AND GREEK 

Hoorah College. 


Dear Pater: 

Your interesting and special delivery letter 
reached me something more than a few moments 
ago and I am so anxious to answer it at once 
that I am not even waiting to read it. The 
money order for a hundred dollars which you 
had the good judgment to enclose was certainly 
a big surprise. I expected $200. However, it 
is all gone anyway, pater, therefore I am in a 
position to take my disappointment philosoph- 
ically, as no matter what amount you had sent 
me it would also be gone, so as a matter of fact 
* I could really credit you with having sent me 

[ 12 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


$1,000,000 rather than $100, being broke any- 
way. This is what is known as “Logic,” pater. 
It is a rather intricate study, if you know what I 
mean, but you can see I am already proficient 
at it, though I have scarcely been here long 
enough to learn the yell. 

While on the absorbing study of logic, pater, 

I have given a great deal of thought to the an- 
noying problem of my being continually in a 
state of insufficientus fundus, as we Latin scholars 
remark, and I have hit on what I think is a happy 
solution. It is, of course, quite humiliating to 
me to have to write incessantly to anyone’s father, 
let alone my own, for money. Yet one must 
have one’s pieces-of-eight and as the French 
have it, “Alpha beta gamma delta?” So there- 
fore, if you will open a modest checking account 
for me, say — oh — three or ten thousand dollars, 
I can handle my finances from this end without 
recourse to you, except in the event of overdrafts, 
which are naturally unavoidable. 

It will probably interest you to know that I 
have instantly obeyed your command to lay 
aside the galloping dominoes while at college 
and that your belief that the science of crap 
shooting was not one of the studies here, is cor- 
rect. I am saying this on the authority of the 
faculty. I’m sure also that you will be glad to 
hear that I have taken up stud poker in place of 
African golf and that brings us around to the 
hundred dollars you sent me. The boys here 
shake a wicked straight flush, pater, and that 
hundred had as much chance as a person would 
have going to Gehenna for the purpose of selling 

[ 13 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


celluloid collars to the natives. After two hours 
of “deuces wild,” I gave the winners an I. O. U. 
shower and resigned. 


It is particularly annoying that I am broke now, 
pater, as I go to my first class in matriculation 
tomorrow and I have got to buy a book on Greek 
Tuition in order to pass the examination. I can 
get one at a second-hand book store here for 
$175.00, so please send that amount at once as 
I would not like to get behind in my studies. 
You can be sure that I have learned my lesson 
in regard to gambling and will shun both cards 
and dice from now on. I have every confidence 
that you will come to my assistance, pater, and 
as an evidence of this I have laid odds of eight to 
five with a dozen or more fellows that the first 
mail will bring at least $1 75.00 for the book on 
Greek Tuition and probably $500.00 for my 
other and varied needs. 


I have been sleeping at the Epsilon Omega 
Kappa Tau Sigma Delta House here, but in a 
few days I will be parked in a dormitory. I sup- 
pose you will no doubt ponder over what is the 
E. O. K. T. S. D., pater, so as I have already 
started on a fresh page I will explain. It is 
nothing less than a Greek fraternity, pater, which 
I belong to and it’s about like the Elks or the 
Masons, only vastly different — if you know what 
I mean. I have already given twenty-two frat 
pins to as many co-eds, which is the highest 
honor a co-ed can get from any university, ac- 
cording to we boys. 


[ 14 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


While I am disclosing the mysteries of college 
life, pater, I may as well explain what a co-ed 
is, too. A co-ed is what makes college abso- 
lutely painless and a welcome relaxation in a 
man’s life. Also, pater, you can get more edu- 
cation from a co-ed in the course of a term than 
you can get from the college proper in forty 
years! 

I am sending you a bill which was given to me 
personally by mistake this morning. It includes 
tuition, matriculation, athletic, literary society 
and dormitory fees and the figures on the bot- 
tom represent the total amount of the bill and 
not the roster of the college, as one might be- 
lieve. When I come out of here at the expiration 
of four years, I will be the first full-fledged 
Bachelor of Arts in our family and you will be 
proud of me, pater, when I hang out my A. B. 
shingle and start in practice. 

Well, avoirdupois, pater, and don’t forget to 
tell me what you think of my checking account 
idea. 


Your studious son, 

TOM. 

\ 

P. S. If you would wire me the $750, think 
of the laugh I would have on the fellows here 
who have intimated that you are niggardly. 


[ 15 ] 


TOM. 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


The Elite Garage & Repair Shop 

5 62 Eighth Avenue 

All Bills Payable the Minute You Get ’Em 

If Our Work Pleases You Tell Others, If It Don t 
Tell It to Sweeney! 

Let Us Repair Your Car and You’ll Never Take 
It Anywhere Else 

Dear Tom: 

Well, I have got your letter, Tom, and I have 
been boilin’ with rage for the last hour on the 
account of the same. It’s only by the dummest 
of luck that I didn’t leap on a train and come up 
there and give you a lickin’ you wouldst remem- 
ber up to and includin’ your dyin* day, not that 
I ever walloped a child of mine except in a play- 
fully way. In the first place, get that idea about 
the checkin* account out of your head and they 
will be that much more room for common sense. 
I wouldst as soon let you compose your own 
checks as I wouldst go over to dear old Cork and 
holler “Down with McSwiney!** with a English 
accent. Here I am workin’ my hands off all 
day long puttin’ nickel plated radiators on Fords 
and sellin* the results as Rolls-Royce drummers* 
samples and you are blowin’ in my sugar like I 
printed it myself. I fondly expected that the 
hundred berries I was silly enough to send you 
in my last letter wouldst last you until they give 
you a diploma or the like and yet you got the 
audac — audacit — audicat — eh, the nerve to tell 
me you are clean again! Well, Tom, I talked 
things over with myself and I have made up my 
mind to put you on a allowance from now on. 

[ 16 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


In the other words, on the first of each and 
every month whilst you are a inmate of college, 
you will get from me the flatterin’ sum of one 
hundred fish, which is identical to twenty-five 
bucks the week or $24,000 every twenty years. 
They will be no use to send me no hot wires in 
between because I will turn a dumb ear to them. 
Whilst they are at it up there, you can get a 
bevy of them professors to teach you the art of 
livin’ on that amount of dough. They will be 
no more from me and that’s that! 

So as you won’t feel that I have cut you off 
from all the advantages which come to yon on 
the account of you bein’ a relative of mine by 
marriage, or in the other words, my son, I am 
goin’ to give you some good sound advice. [ 
have sent you up there to get a full fledge edu- 
cation which is somethin’ I never had, so that 
when you come out dressed up in the sheeps skin 
I understand they furnish you with, you will be 
all set to stand the world on its ear and make it 
like it! Treat your professors with the same re- 
spect you had to give them little second lieuten- 
ants when the draft was all the rage, study your 
lessons and try to get some faintly idea of what 
it’s all about up there, quit treatin’ college like 
it was somethin* that was gave to you for Xmas 
to play with and don’t give them co-ed’s too 
strong a play. Whilst you didn’t let fall no hints 
that them co-eds is members of the female race, 

I ain’t so ignorant that I don’t recognize the de- 
scription you give of them. When I sent you 
up there I didn’t know that girls was part of the 
variously studies, but nevers the less, we will have 
to make the best of it now. Anyhow, Tom, don’t 

[ 17 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


be goin* around lyin’ to them and tellin* them 
your father has got four dollars for every bone 
in a herrin’ so as to make a impression and if 
by some chance you get maniacal enough to 
write them letters in which the words “sweet- 
heart” and “love” plays a important part, don’t 
forget that few jurys has a sense of the ro- 
mantical. 

With the regards to the Greek Tuition book 
which you claim you can get second handed for 
$175.00, I am herewith sendin’ you $176.00 
so’s you can get a new one. I don’t want them 
millionaires’ offspring up there to get the idea 
that your father is a tramp! 

Your father, 

PATRICK FRANCIS CULLEN. 

P- S. — I am still waitin’ to find out what you 
mean by callin’ me “dear pater.” I don’t like to 
see you usin’ slang and the like, Tom, you may 
not notice it yourself, but cornin’ from a college 
guy it sounds out of the place. 


ATHLETICS— INCLUDING FOOTBALL 
AND LOVE 

Hoorah College. 

Dear Governor: 

Well, pater, since you so strenuously object 
to me addressing you as “Pater” (which is really 
recherche , if you know what I mean), I have de- 
cided to try calling you “Governor” for a while 
and see how that will work out. I have observed 

[ 18 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


that in nearly all the dramas of wild life in col- 
lege, the dashing young hero always snappily 
calls his male parent “Guvnor,” at least until 
the big scene in Act II when father, the pillar 
of Wall Street, has become bereft of his bank 
account, via the ticker. Then, of course, all 
flippancy temporarily ceases while the hero enters 
in an immaculate football suit and walking over 
to where his rather careless and thoroughly ruined 
progenitor sits with bent head, he looks at the 
ingenue and says: “Dad, dear!” in a quavering 
voice. 

But this, as you may notice, is all beside the 
point. Apart from the fact that I have nothing 
else to do, I am writing to thank you for sending 
me the $1 76.00 for the book on Greek Tuition, 
which I had to have in order to pass my exami- 
nations in Matriculation. It may interest you 
to know that I was unable to get the book after 
all, although I searched practically all the big 
stores, such as Far & Wide, High & Low, Here 
& There, etc. However, I got through my exam 
with flying colors, getting the edifying mark of 
158 when only 100 was required to pass. 

I suppose you are wondering what became 
of the $1 76.00 when I made the sensational dis- 
covery that I was unable to put it to the use you 
intended it for. Well, pater — er, my mistake! 
— governor, I have had two remarkable experi- 
ences since my last interesting letter to you. To 
be frank, I have fallen wildly in love and I have 
also made the football eight, or maybe it’s twelve, 
I must look that up. I divided the money evenly, 
viz., $6.00 folr football (broken finger) and 
$1 70.00 for love (ditto heart). 

[ 19 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


Malapropos of the football, of course, I am 
not a member of the uniVarsity team (the u, n 
and i are silent as in roach), I am playing with 
the Freshmen. I would not want you to get the 
two teams confused, governor, as occasionally, 
we Frosh win a game. 

Before discarding this subject, will you kindly 
reach for your checkbook and scribble me a 
jolly old draft for, say, $200? I will need that 
amount to complete my football equipment, as 
the college does not furnish the skis. 

Well, governor, I will tell you how I secured 
a billet on the football team. It was really quite 
interesting. I was standing in the gym reading 
“The Art of High Diving,” by Jess Willard, with 
an introduction by Bombardier Wells, the An- 
nette Kellerman of the prize ring, when our 
genial and well liked coach came over and made 
me the cynosure of both his eyes. 

Play football? he remarked abruptly. 

Oh, fluently!” I answered respectfully and 
with not a little gusto, while my heart beat against 
my ribs — er — as of course it naturally does. 

What position do you play in?” he inquired 
rather skeptically. 

,, Why er bent a bit from the hips,” I said, 
— sort of stooped over and — ” 

One of them small town comics, hey?” 
grunted our coach, or vice versa, “Well, we’ll 
fix that part of it all up. Get a suit and report 
to the squad on South Field!” 

[ 20 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


And turning on his heel he strode away, while 
the other fellows who had apparently constricted 
their lungs during my controversy with the coach* 
resumed breathing and stared at me as though 
I were a condemned criminal on my way to the 
gibbet. 

Well, governor, I got caparisoned in a foot- 
ball costume and reported for practice as ad- 
vertised. The first lesson lasted one hour, at 
which point I claimed exemption. The coach 
took a flattering interest in me from the very 
start and appointed me tackling dummy, insist- 
ing upon me carrying the ball the length of the 
field time after time, while the other fellows had 
to be content with hurling themselves upon me 
as I swept by. When my head was the only 
bone in my body that wasn’t bruised and 
sprained, I was allowed to retire. Later we had 
practice in passing the buck — or the ball, I be- 
lieve they call it — running down punts, learning 
signals, falling on the ball, falling on the ground 
and fumbling. At the last two, I excelled. 

Oh, by the way, the broken finger that I men- 
tioned, I sustained in attempting to remove a 
nose guard. 

However, I made the team, getting the port- 
folio of fullback. We have played one game 
since I’ve been fullbacking, clashing with Siss 
Boom Ah University. The final score was 85 
to 85, in favor of us. I am enclosing a clipping 
from “Who’s Who in America’’ which will give 
you all the details of the struggle. 

[ 21 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


It was right after this game, governor, that I 
met the sweetest little girl in all the world. She 
has promised to be my bride, ten years after I 
graduate and have built up a flourishing business 
as a Bachelor of Arts. So that I have only to 
wait until 1934, but when I think of how long the 
Democrats will have to wait, governor, it seems 
as nothing! 

No doubt you will want to know your future 
daughter-in-law’s name, governor, and dash it 
all, I have forgotten to ask her! However, in 
my next letter I will probably be able to tell 
you. I am putting a memo to ask her this rather 
leading question, in my dancing pumps, where 
I will be sure to see it. 

In glancing carelessly over this letter before 
mailing it, I note that I have forgotten to enclose 
the clipping in re the football game, so you will 
have quite a few things to look forward to in 
my next. 

And, oh yes — the $1 76.00. As I said before, 
six dollars of this went to a colleague who is 
studying botany, for setting my finger. Well, 
the trifling $1 70.00 that remained was a sacrifice 
at the altar of the well and favorably known 
God of Love, to wit, Cupid, and if you could see 
the engagement ring you would be the first to 
agree with me that I got a bargain. Then again, 
it was darn decent of the local jeweler to accept 
a sum as small as that for an initial payment and 
give me a full week to pay the balance of $500. 
So please send that amount at once, governor, 
as I am sure neither of us would want to have 
me put in jail — I, for one, am against it. I know 

[ 22 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


when you see Miss — er — hang it! — Miss — ah — 
eh — well, this vision of loveliness who has sud- 
denly come into my life, ostensibly from Heaven, 
you will chide me for not buying her something 
expensive rather than giving her the impression 
that I am a piker. An impression, I may add, 
that I hope to remove within the next few weeks 
with your co-operation. 

Your infatuated son, 

Tom. 


59RS MT NIGHT LETTER 
RJ NEW YORK NY 12PM 

NOV 15 1920 

TOM CULLEN 

HOORAH COLLEGE 

MEET NINE PM EXPRESS I AND LAWYER 
WILL BE ON IT GET RING FROM VAMP 
ALSO ALL CUCKOO LETTERS AND PITCH- 
ERS OF YOU WITH IDIOTICALLY BUNK 
WROTE ON BACK WHAT DO YOU MEAN 
BY GETTING ENGAGED I SENT YOU TO 
COLLEGE TO GET BRAINS NOT JANES. 

POP. 


[ 23 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


FRENCH AND FEMININITY 

Hoorah College. 


Dear Pere: 

Well, I have just come from my French class 
where I found out for one thing that entre nous 
doesn’t mean “Come in!” as I always thought it 
did, and also that Uhomme does not stand for 
one’s residence. . But really, pater, the French 
language is not half as hard to master as I feared 
it would be. It’s twice as hard! Most of their 
nouns, adjectives, verbs and etc are pronounced 
almost the same as ours, but they have a quaint 
habit of adding additional letters to them which 
mean nothing. For instance, they spell pork thus 
“ ponrquoi,” mercy with an “i“ instead of the 
conventional “y” and raiment is “vraiment.” The 
plural pronoun we is “oui” in French and May is 
“mais.” For example: “May et I in proper 
vraimeni went into a restaurant where oui ate 
pourqoui chops without merci.” 

Silly, isn’t it? 

But all French aside, pater, I am rather glad 
that you broke up that incipient love affair be- 
tween myself and Miss ah eh dash it 

all, I ve forgotten her name again! I refer to the 
bewitching female to whom I gave the diamond 
ring with the $1 76.00 you had sent me for the 
book on Greek Tuition. It is true that for a 
time I was mad about her — that is, mad about 
her refusal to return the ring, but I called at her 
home yesterday as you directed and got it. So, 

[ 24 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


pater, you may rest assured that I am cured of 
my desire to wed her and perhaps it was for the 
best all around, as I would be foolish to think 
seriously of matrimony before I have built up my 
practise as Bachelor of Arts, eh pater? 

Speaking of B. A. immediately calls to mind 
— to mine at least — Bank Account and, pater, 
like the once Democratic Party, mine is all shot 
to pieces. The meagre two hundred berries 
(Montenegrin for dollars, pater) you left with 
me when you came up here and busted my 
romance was absolutely wiped out by the pur- 
chase of Xmas gifts and if it were not in bad 
taste I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you that the smok- 
ing jacket I gave you cost something less than 
$100.00 alone. However, what’s done is done 
and as the French have it “Nous denous anous 
nous !” So if you will ship me a hundred at once, 
I will not trouble you again until my next letter. 

Now you will probably wonder how it is that 
I need funds, when I was supposed to return the 
ill-fated engagement ring to the jeweler and get 
back the money I had paid for it. Well, pater, 
by an odd coincidence I have not yet taken the 
gem back to the — eh — gemmer. As a matter of 
fact, it only remained in my possession a scant 
half hour, after what I had been led to believe 
was my future bride, returned it. There is quite 
a little story connected with this, pater, and with 
your permission I will here set forth the facts 
which are roughly, viz; pursuant (nifty word that, 
what?) pursuant to your command, I notified 
Miss — er — Miss X over the phone that due to 
unforeseen complications in the form of parental 

[ 25 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


objections, our more or less charming romance 
was void until further notice £\nd that I would 
call for my pledge of troth, to wit, the ring, within 
the hour. I do not think it necessary, pater, to 
record her immediate remarks here, as there is 
a chance that they might irritate you or any one’s 
father and besides I am not quite ready to con- 
cede that I am three or four of the — eh — things 
she called me. However, I arrived at the chalet 
(Broad "i” as in water, pater) I arrived at the 
chalet as advertised and was ushered into the 
drawing room by a female Ethiopian and shortly 
thereafter a soft step was heard in the hall. Pater, 
my heart began to throb spasmodically, approxi- 
mately like this — pitty pat, pitty pat, pat! Rather 
cute that, eh pater? Get the swing? — pitty pat, 
pitty pat, pitt — but to continue, when I heard 
the soft step in the hall my courage oozed like 
— er— well, whatever is in the habit of oozing, 
and it occurred to me what a brute I was to 
break this dear little girl s trusting heart, simply 
because you refused to approve of my rather 
modest wish to get married. For a moment I 
resolved to defy you, pater, felt quite heroic and 
looked it — as I noticed by glancing at myself in 
a pier glass which helped to decorate the room, 
^^en ^e portieres softly parted and a vision 
such as pater, I wish you could have seen this 
hashish eater’s dream as she entered that room 
and I know your objections would vanish like — 
er my allowance, for example. I have gone 
through Roget, Webster and the musical comedy 
advertisements, four times without finding suffi- 
cient adjectives to describe her, so I will merely 
say that had this banquet to the eye been cur- 
rent m the time of Marc Anthony, Marc would 

[ 26 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


have given Cleopatra the raspberry, if you know 
what I mean. Oh, pater, what a sweet damsel 
she is! 

Well, she sat down on the chaise longue — 
whatever that is! — beside me, quite properly I 
assure you, and extending the ring to me in its 
original package, she murmured a few well 
assorted conventional regrets, to which I replied 
in kind, striving manfully to keep my voice 
normal although the blood was fairly galloping 
through my veins. To cover our mutual embar- 
rassment and ease the strain of an extremely deli- 
cate situation, we discussed various impersonal 
topics such as love, Cupid, diamonds, engage- 
ments and matrimony. The upshot of it all was, 
pater, that before I left I had taken the ring from 
the box and placed it on her finger, following hard 
on several chaste salutes. So, pater, here I am 
engaged again — fancy that! 

But I have not disobeyed you. I got the ring 
from Miss X as you commanded, although she 
was so angry she refused to see me personally and 
sent her sister down to me with the bauble instead. 
The net result is that I am now engaged to said 
sister as described above. 

Her name is Agnes, meaning chaste. 

Pater, if you could only imagine how — woof! 
— words fail me! 


Your affectionate son, 

TOM. 


[ 27 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


The Elite Garage & Repair Shop 

562 Eighth Avenue 

All Bills Payable the Minute You Get ’Em 

If Our Work Pleases You Tell Us, If It Don’t, 
Tell It to Sweeney 

Let Us Repair Your Car and You’ll Never Take 
It Anywhere Else l 

Dear Tom: 

It’s a luckily thing for you that I am still full 
of the Xmas spirit (Don’t worry, I made sure that 
this was bonded stuff!) or I wouldst come up 
there once again and run you ragged. It seems 
that in your case this B. A. thing will mean 
“Boob Allover’’ and instead of gettin’ better as 
you get older, like wine, you get worse, like eggs! 
I am not a young man no more and kinnot be 
runnin’ hithers and yon about the country keepin* 
you from playin’ a practical joke on some female 
by marryin’ her. I can only say this; that the 
minute you get wed I will cut you off without a 
nickel, so you better try and marry into the Rock- 
efeller family whilst you are at it! 

As for the smokin’ jacket you sent me, I 
needed that sixty-two colored crazy quilt, Tom, 
the same way I need a third ear. I do most of 
my smokin’ right here in the old garage and if 
you think I’m gonna crawl under a car with that 
Bullshevik flag on my back, then you also think 
that Niagara Falls is composed of Bevo. If you 
wanna gimme a Xmas present which I will appre- 
ciate, lay off gettin’ engaged and quit sendin’ for 

[ 28 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


money and I’ll actually believe they is a Santy 
Claus. 

As for this Agnes, which means chased, they 
is no doubt she will be chased as I expect to visit 
you again in a couple of weeks and I will do the 
chasin’, after I have got back your ring. You 
meet more schemin’ vampires in a month, appar- 
ently, than a movie director does in a year! 

I am enclosin’ a blank signed check and you 
will notice they is no amount filled in. Well, 
Tom, I will not put in the amount ’til you show 
me you can save some money. The old man 
fooled you this time, hey? 

POP. 


INTERCOLLEGIATE SPORTS, 
INCLUDING POETRY 

Hoorah College. 

Dear Pater: 

Well, dad, you will undoubtedly be overjoyed 
to hear that I am once again “heart whole and 
fancy free’’ as Hooziss, the poet, says. Last eve- 
ning I handed Cupid his passports, severing all 
diplomatic relations with the charming but 
slightly fickle Agnes Kimo. Alas and a lackaday 
for love’s young dream, eh, pater? I am to call 
for our pledge of troth, to-wit, the engagement 
ring, tonight and will also get my letters, which 
Agnes has promised to have ready for me, packed 
in lots of fifty. Having nothing else to think 

[ 29 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


about, of course you remember, pater, that I had 
originally arranged to take up the holy bonds of 
matrimony with Mystica, the sister of the above 
mentioned Agnes and would have gone through 
with my part of it had it not been for you. In 
your night letter at the time you spoke of disin- 
heriting me if I became a groom before leaving 
college and opening up an office as a successful 
Bachelor of Arts. So reading between the lines 
and acting upon this subtle hint of yours, pater, 
I cancelled all games I had scheduled with the 
young lady for the remainder of the season. 

As you jolly well know, pater, when I went 
around to get my ring Mystica refused to see me, 
but sent the costly bauble downstairs with her 
sister Agnes. The latter proved to be a vision 
of lovely femininity such as is rarely seen by any 
one but an opium fiend after his eighteenth pipe, 
so drying my tears 1 took from her the ring I had 
given Mystica and as there was nowhere else to 
put it I hauled off and placed it on her own 
quivering finger — thus becoming engaged to my 
whilom fiancee’s sister. A bit erotic, eh, dad? 
Ibsenesque, what? 

Ah me and etc., here I am — er — unattached 
again, pater, yet since the pulchritudinous 
(Woof!) Agnes promised to be my bride seems 
but a couple of days ago. As a matter of fact, 
that s all it is! And to think that five years 
from next Washington’s Birthday we would have 
been married a week. 

So that you will not die in convulsions from 
curiosity, pater, I will immediately relate the in- 
cidents of last night that led up to my now fa- 

130 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


mous break with Agnes Kimo. As you know, I 
have gone in for the more manly athletics here 
with my Visual enthusiasm, throating a nasty 
tenor on the Glee Club and shaking a vicious 
hoof on our dancing team. Well, last night the 
Intercollegiate Shimmy Contest with Goofy Uni- 
versity was staged at the Hotel Egram. When I 
called to escort my then fiancee to the annual 
classic, she boasted of a headache — the result 
of having studied until 4 a. m. the previous 
morning. Pater, Agnes is not the first co-ed I 
have heard complain about the small print in 
Snappy Stories. However, Agnes begged to be 
excused, adding that if I was really saturated 
with love for her, I would also remain at home — 
that is, my own home. I said I would, so we had 
that all settled. 

About half past eight o’clock on this fateful 
evening, after I had paced the floor of my room 
between 2900 and 4600 times, wondering how 
the tide of battle was going as the panting dancers 
wrestled back and forth on the polished floor, 
while thousands of Hoorah College and Goofy 
University adherents cheered them on (Rather 
a long sentence this, as the life-termer twitted 
the judge) I got a premonition, pater, Something 
told me that I should go at once to the Hotel 
Egram. So strong was the feeling, that I 
grabbed my hat and coat and rushed out of my 
room at once — stopping only to call at the house 
of a certain fascinating young lady with whom I 
have been trying out a Platonic friendship. I im- 
plored her to accompany me to the shimmy tour- 
nament, as I feared if I went alone I might be 
carried away by the excitement and leap into the 

[ 31 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


fray, thus cracking my vow to Agnes. I man- 
aged to gain my platonic friend’s consent and as 
I had impressed upon her the necessity of speed, 
she was back at my side in less than three hours 
in a dazzling decollete that displayed her — er — 
utter disregard for pneumonia. Pater, I think 
it was then that it first struck me that I had been 
a trifle hasty in getting engaged to Agnes. A man 
should look around a bit and — but to continue, 
we reached the Hotel Egram and were pushing 
through the milling crowd to the dancing arena, 
when a couple bumped violently against us. I 
caught a whiff of a familiar perfume — Spearmint 
— and I looked up square into the startled eyes of 
my fiancee, who was supposed to be home in 
bed with a headache! Agnes Kimo’s face turned 
as crimson as — er — $46.00 worth of catsup. 

“What are you doing here?” she gasped. 

“What are you doing here?” I gasped. 

“Who is this woman?’’ she demanded, evad- 
ing my question. 

“Who is this man? I demanded, evading her 
question. 

With a shrug of her gleaming white shoulders, 
Agnes calmly turned and introduced her escort, 
a goofy looking, long haired fathead entitled 
Patrick Longfellow Goldstein.’’ I recalled this 
fellow, pater, as the author of “How to Kill An 
Oyster,’’ the poem which is alleged to have in- 

132 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


spired the Russo-Japanese War. To digress a 
moment, I give it here from memory — the poem, 
not the war, pater: 

HOW TO KILL AN OYSTER 

Don’t drown him in vinegar 
Or cover him at all 
With nasty salt and pepper 
All over, like a pall, 

But grab him by his shiney eye 

And gently hold your breath 

Whilst with your eager, trembling, tongue — 

Just tickle him to death! 

Now, pater, can you imagine a girl with the 
intelligence Agnes Kimo must have had when 
she got engaged to me, falling for a goof that 
would commit anything like the above? 

So tonight, pater, I will go around and get my 
ring from Agnes. As Adam remarked, I will 
never trust another woman as long as I live and 
my charming platonic friend, whom I hope some 
day to make my — but anyhow, pater, she says 
she doesn’t blame me a bit! 

Your affectionate son and all that sort of thing, 

TOM. 

P. S. — Please send me $150 at once as I have 
joined the tennis eleven and I have to furnish my 
own brassies. 

TOM. 


[ 33 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


The Elite Garage & Repair Shop 

562 Eighth Avenue 

All Bills Payable the Minute You Get Em 

If Our Work Pleases You Tell Us, If It Don t 
Tell It to Sweeney 

Let Us Repair Your Car and You’ll Never Take 
It Anywhere Else! 

Dear Tom: 

Your letter at hand and contents noted and in 
reply wouldst beg to say when in the #$%&! 
are you gonna write me a letter in which they is 
some slightly hint with the regards to how are 
you gettin’ along with your studies, instead of 
bein’ fill up with your idiotical love affairs and 
the like? I did not send you to college to see 
can you bust Solomon’s record as a lady killer, 
nor have I got the faintest intentions of pen- 
sionin’ off the fair winners of no breach of prom- 
ise tournaments. I work hard for my jack as 
you well know and with the price of Flivver 
parts wholesale jumped from 38 cents for radia- 
tors to four bits flat and rear ends now sellin’ 
at $1.45 at the factory, they is barely sixty per- 
cent profit in handlin’ the tinware! 

They is never a word in your letters as to 
what marks are you gettin’ in tuition, matricula- 
tion, insomnia, algeometry, diphtheria, etc. — 
nothin’ but dancin’ and girls, dancin’ and girls! 

Now I have prepared a few simple questions 
which I want you to answer in your next letter 
so’s I can get some kind of a line on how college 
has affected your brains. If you can’t answer 
them correctly, they is no use of you wastin’ 

[ 34 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


teacher’s time and my jack up there and I will 
bring you back and put you to work in the ga- 
rage, dopin’ the gas with kerosene and makin’ 
medium oil out of molasses and boiled fat. Here 
is the sample questions: 

1 — State in round numbers the capitol of 
Y onkers. 

2 — Is they any swimmin’ at Rex Beach? 

3 — If a man had 398 apples and sold the lot 
for a profit of 9 cents, how much was the price 
of each? 

4 — In what part of the United States is the 
Eighteenth Amendment in effect? 

5 — What is the difference between a Prohibi- 
tion Enforcement Agent and Bootlegger? (This 
don’t refer to the current prices demanded by 
each, or their respectively sales records.) 

Yours truly, 

POP. 


SECOND SEMESTER: ECONOMICS, BOXING 

Hoorah College, 

Dear Dad: 

Well, I have quite a surprise for you, as David 
remarked to Goliath. Hoorah College has added 
boxing to its athletic curriculum, pater, and I have 
therefore decided to cease getting head-aches 
studying the trade of Bachelor of Arts. Instead, 
I’ve taken up the profession of remodeling human 
features on living subjects, to wit, pugilism, and 

[ 35 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


I expect some day to be heavyweight champion 
of the wide, wide world — provided the bridge 
of my nose and my ears hold out. 

Dad, I have given the matter of changing my 
career the same amount of careful consideration 
that the average bartender has and I’ve reached 
the conclusion that we are living in an age where 
learning is about as necessary to one as a third 
eye in the eternal struggle for fame and fortune. 
For example, Jack Dempsey, who don’t know 
whether Virgil was a race horse or a tooth paste, 
got more money and notoriety for knocking 
this George Carpenter for a goal than a college 
professor gets in a life time. The average top 
notch prize fighter makes about thrice as much 
jack, as the faculty would call it, as the President 
of the United States in a year. Moving picture 
stars could pay off Congress every week and 
never miss the money and besides, look at the 
— eh — fun they have! But all jokes aside, Dad, 
which would you rather be — a Mack Sennett di- 
rector issuing orders to Phyliss Haver or Marie 
Prevost and getting paid in the vicinity of $1,500 
a week for it, or the occupant of the chair of 
chemistry, for instance, at some gloomy univer- 
sity issuing orders to a lot of fatheads for $1,500 
a year ? Come now, pater, which would you 
choose? 

That’s exactly the way I feel, too! 

But to return to boxing, pater, as I say I have 
dropped the study of bright books for the study 
of right hooks and whilst on this subject, you had 
better send me three hundred smackers as I will 
have to have my nose re-set again and I am be- 

[ 36 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


ginning to feel a bit silly with four of my front 
teeth reposing in my vest pocket. Also, I have 
discovered a doctor here who thinks that a few 
minor operations upon my once woman-killing 
features will at least fix them up so that the 
co-eds will cease scurrying about the campus 
with shrill cries of alarm at sight of me. I’m 
afraid that a couple of my ears, however, will be 
permanently mistaken for cauliflowers by the 
near sighted. 

No doubt, pater, you are thinking that I must 
have put too many raisins in the last batch with 
the result that some of the bottles exploded, thus 
accounting for the slight injuries listed above. 
Nothing of the sort, pater. In the first place, I 
have too much respect for our punch-drunk Con- 
stitution to violate any of its amendments and in 
the second place, we boys up here have found a 
couple of perfectly respectable cafes where they 
are still — eh — taking a chance. As a matter of 
fact, I acquired such marks of my prospective 
profession as I have mentioned, during the course 
of my first lesson from our fisticuff in- 
structor, Professor Knockout McGurk, J. A. B., 
H. O. O. K., and S. L. A. M., late of Pork and 
Bean University. 

I believe I informed you in my last com- 
munique that I had severed my engagement to 
Agnes Kimo, sister of the girl I once intended 
to make your daughter-in-law. Well, I went 
around the other eve and obtained my ring with- 
out any undue violence or bloodshed and after- 
wards 1 called upon Blanche Mange, a little pla- 
tonic co-ed friend of mine who would have made 

[ 37 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


Adonis tear up Psyche’s telephone number and 
send Venus back her letters! Ah me, pater, I 
did think for a time that I might drag Blanche 
right up to the altar and — eh — all that sort of 
rot, but my heart and your bankroll are safe once 
again. After my latest experience with the un- 
stability of the speaker sex, I am permanently 
blonde proof! 

Bu what has all this applesauce got to do with 
my taking up the art of pugilism, you will say 
and I will answer that Blanche Mange was indi- 
rectly responsible for my turning from the lure of 
a Bachelor of Art’s wild life to the prosaic ex- 
istence of a champion prize fighter. The facts 
are roughly, as follows: 

The night I called upon the pulse-quickening 
Blanche, who is an incurable movie addict, pater, 
she suggested that we go to see Fairless Doug- 
banks in his latest reflection upon the adult in- 
telligence, entitled, “Fun in the Morgue.*’ Well, 
pater, from the minute the handsome screen star 
appeared on the screen, I could have been in 
Siberia as far as Blanche was concerned. 1 even 
lost her hand, which she had snuggled into mine 
during the showing the News V^eekly.** Every 
time Fairless Dougbanks foiled the eight or nine 
hundred villains in the picture, Blanche would 
lean forward in her seat, her bosom heaving tu- 
multuously, her breath coming in short gasps and 
her eyes half closed while she murmured ecstati- 
cally, Oh, isn’t he simply wonderful !” 

The big stiff! 

Well, anyhow, pater, on the way back from 
the theatre after we have knocked off a choco- 

[ 38 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


late nut sundae apiece — just enough to get a 
mild kick, you understand — Blanche continued 
to rave about what a super-hero Fairless Doug- 
banks was and pretty soon my nerves were rasp- 
ing against each other until the noise caused 
passersby to stare after me curiously. 

“Think of one man, alone and single-handed, 
vanquishing a dozen armed bandits as Fairless 
did in the second reel!” exclaimed Blanche. 
“Think of—” 

“That’s nothing!” I interrupted testily, “noth- 
ing at all. Any man Vho calls himself a man 
could do the same thing. Six armed bandits 
wouldn’t give me a thrill. Give me a couple of 
coco-cola’s and I’d take on twenty brigands!” 

Blanche sniffed skeptically, pater, and that 
was the ultimate straw. At that moment we 
were passing a pool room and about fifteen or 
twenty-eight young ruffiians were hanging around 
outside. They were about the roughest looking 
bunch of potential gunmen that I ever saw any- 
where — even in a jury box. I buttoned up my 
coat, pulled my cap down hard, tightened my 
belt and turned to the dumbfounded Blanche. 

“Watch me, gal,” I hissed, “I’ll make Fairless 
Dougbanks look like a Shubert chorus man!” 

With that, pater, I sailed into the no doubt 
astonished bunch of roughs, letting fly about me 
right merrily. . . . As I hit the pavement, 

I heard a woman scream. 

A few moments later, pater, I pried open 
eye and still in a reclining position, I identi- 

[ 39 ] 


one 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


fied the scornful face of my whilom platonic 
friend Blanche amongst the various stars that 
wiggled and wobbled before me. She was sur- 
rounded by all of the roughs except two, who 
oddly enough, were sitting on me. 

“He must have been drinking!” I heard her 
say in horrified tones. 

“Either that, or he’s a hophead,” volunteered 
one of the thugs, cheerfully. “Don’t be afraid, 
lady, we’ll take care of this baby!” I noticed 
he wasn’t a bad looking devil. “Want me to 
walk home with youse so’s nothin’ kin happen?” 
he added. 

As in a dream, I heard Blanche whisper softly, 

“If you would!” 

So that’s how I came to take up boxing, pater, 
and Professor McGurk assures me that within a 
month I will be able to go back and thrash this 
fellow, who it developed later, is middleweight 
champion of the state. 

A bit annoying to have found this last out so 
late, eh pater? 

Your affectionate son, 

TOM. 


The Elite Garage & Repair Shop 
562 Eighth Avenue 

Dear Tom: 

It seems that once a fool, always a fool, as 
Henry Ford says. Every letter I get from you is 
filled up with your adventures with the ladies and 

[ 40 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


it looks like I might as well of sent you to Vassar 
and be done with it! I note you are taking up 
the study of box fightin*. That’s fine. Maybe 
this guy McGurk can beat some sense into your 
head! I also note from your letter that you are 
missin* a few teeth and that your beak has got 
to be overhauled as the results of your first les- 
son from Professor Knockout McGurk. En- 
closed you will find three hundred bucks. Take 
one hundred for yourself and give Professor Mc- 
Gurk the other two and my best regards. Be 
sure and don’t miss the second lesson. 

POP. 


STRATEGY, FISTICUFFS 

Hoorah College, 


Dear Dad: 

Well, pater, old bean, I am writing this billet 
doux (as the Abyssinians have it) under huge 
difficulties. One of my favorite eyes is as black 
as $50,000 worth of coal, my lips are much 
puffier than the natty dresser is wearing them 
this year and my nose is as jovially red and 
swollen as a prohibition enforcement officer’s. 
Also, every bone in my body, including the larg- 
est one, ie, my head, is aching like several hun- 
dred sore thumbs. Pater, old dear, when I first 
crashed into Hoorah College I thought football 
was a rough and tumble sport, but alongside of 
boxing the gridiron pastime is as mild as parcheesi! 

[ 41 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


However, pater, you perfectly priceless old 
thing, in the course of acquiring the trifling scars 
listed above I succeeded in buffeting my way to 
a place on the freshman boxing team and next 
week we travel to Dumbell University to cross 
gloves with their exponents of the manly art of 
assault and battery. That we will knock those 
fellows stiff is a foregone conclusion everywhere 
— that is, everywhere except at Dumbell Univer- 
sity. Professor Knockout McGurk, J. A. B., 
H. O. O. K., and S. L. A. M., who holds the 
Chair of Sockology here, is confident that I will 
personally account for first honors in at least the 
following divisions, to wit, needleweight, paper- 
weight, flyweight, bantamweight, featherweight, 
lightweight, welterweight, middleweight, heavy- 
weight and — er — etc. 

You may recall, pater, that in my last letter I 
told you that after I had been rendered du hors 
combat, as the Esquimaux say, by the exceed- 
ingly champion professional middleweight pugil- 
ist of the state, I decided to add boxing to the 
other 1 85 courses I am taking here. Also, pater, 
unless you have lost your mind, you likewise re- 
member that I was lured into fisticuffs with this 
unlettered but two-fisted caveman through the 
wiles of a woman, viz., Blanche Mange, a co-ed 
who would have caused Nero to throw away his 
fiddle. With the praiseworthy desire of display- 
ing my prowess to Blanche after she had made me 
deathly sick raving about Fairless Dougbanks, 
the movie star, I attacked on the street Young 
Battling Kid One-Round McWallop, the middle- 
weight champion, and in the picturesque parlance 
of the ring he knocked me for a row of Chinese 

[ 42 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


ashcans. Then this big tramp, as the faculty 
would say, walked off with Blanche. 

Well, pater, I immediately enrolled in Pro- 
fessor McGurk s boxing class, having made up 
my mind that the moment 1 became proficient at 
the manly art 1 would seek out Young Battling 
Kid One-Round McWallop and obtain revenge. 
As at prep school I won my letter at seven up, I 
anticipated^ little difficulty in learning the art of 
“knockin’ ’em stiff and makin’ ’em like it,’’ as 
Professor McGurk remarks. 

But alas, pater, unlike chemistry, boxing is not 
a study that can be mastered in half an hour. At 
the end of my first lesson, or “round,’’ the long- 
est three minutes I have ever spent in my life, I 
was convinced that boxers, like street cleaners, 
are born and not made! It would take me too 
long to set forth here all the various rules and 
angles to the science, but suffice it to say that the 
first and most important thing to learn about 
boxing is to keep from being knocked flat. This 
most elementary point was the hardest for me to 
remember. It appears that Professor McGurk hit 
me with everything but the chapel and dormi- 
tories and the only time I laid a glove on him 
was when we shook hands before the massacre 
began. 

Before going down to the gym for my first 
lesson, pater, I instructed my room-mate, Laun- 
celot Fishbaum, to take down in shorthand a re- 
port of every blow landed by the Professor and 
myself, just like the sporting writers do at a regu- 
lar prize fight. You see, I thought that with a 

[ 43 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


punch by punch account at hand after my lesson 
I could study it and find out just what blows I 
missed and just what punches delivered by Pro- 
fessor McGurk were the most effective and the 
hardest for me to avoid. Well, pater, I must say 
that I found my room-mate’s account of the first 
and only round we fought of little value to me 
as a test book. Here is the way it read: 

“Report of boxing contest between Professor 
Knockout McGurk and Tom Cullen, *24. Round 
One — McGurk put left to head and right to heart. 
McGurk hooked his right to the head. McGurk 
crashed over a wicked left to the jaw. McGurk 
swung left and right to stomach. McGurk ripped 
over a right to the nose. McGurk smashed left 
to wind. McGurk shot right to face. McGurk 
pumped both hands to body. McGurk slashed 
right to jaw. McGurk slammed left to mouth. 
McGurk jabbed right and left to head. McGurk 
planted right to face. McGurk chopped left to 
ear. End of First Round.” 

“What is the idea of all this about McGurk?” 
I exclaimed to Launcelot Fishbaum, when the 
medical attendant at the gym said I would live 
and 1 had read Launcelot’ s report. “What did I 
hit?” 

The floor,” said Launcelot Fishbaum, with 
an asinine grin, and I’ll say you take a mean 
dive!” 

Well, pater, as there appeared to be little 
chance of me winning back the affection of 
Blanche Mange through my feats of arms, I turned 
to my wits. After sitting up all night in silent 
communion with my brain and a bottle of a 

[ 44 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


liquid obtainable at most drug stores now if one 
knows the prescription clerk and which looks 
like water but isn’t, I assure you, I hit upon a 
scheme that looked certain to win the lady of my 
heart, and all that sort of thing. With the three 
hundred dollars you sent me in your last letter I 
went out and hired 30 of the roughest, toughest, 
brawniest and generally blood-thirsty looking 
cave men that I could find, at ten dollars the 
each. They were instructed to meet in Outdoor 
Park at ten o’clock that night and assemble be- 
hind the monument to Goofy O’Goldstein, the 
inventor of the tissue-paper sledge-hammer. I 
had succeeded in getting Blanche Mange to con- 
sent to a final interview before giving me the rasp- 
berry and as she and me passed O’Goldstein’s 
Monument the thirty thugs were to spring out as 
if to attack us. Then, pater, I would lay about 
me right merrily and knock the entire thirty 
roughnecks as cold as a pawnbroker’s eye and if 
Blanche didn’t fall for me then why I could also 
knock her — er — that is, well, anyhow, pater, I 
felt that I had concocted a dude of a scheme. 

But alas, ah me and alack a day, who can 
understand women, pater? Everything went off 
as advertised. I met Blanche Mange and we 
walked through Outdoor Park. As we passed 
Goofy O’Goldstein’s Monument the thirty 
bruisers leaped out with load yelps and sur- 
rounded us. Blanche released a shrill scream 
and then I began swinging both fists right and 
left, right and left, right and left, right and — 
well, anyhow, pater, in less than five minutes the 
thirty gangsters were piled all over each other at 
the foot of O’Goldstein’s Monument, knocked 

[ 45 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


out by your affectionate son — to all intents and 
purposes. Breathing hard and well satisfied, I 
turned to Blanche Mange expecting her to throw 
her arms around my neck and murmur “My 
hero!” or something to that effect. Instead of 
that, pater, she regarded me with the greatest of 
scorn while her eyes flashed with indignation. 

“You big brute!” she hissed, to my utter 
amazement. “The idea of assaulting those in- 
offensive strangers. Get out of my sight — I 
loathe a coward!” 

With that, pater, she took out her handker- 
chief and, kneeling down, began wiping off the 
face of the biggest and toughest looking gunman 
of the lot! 

That was too much for me, pater, and with a 
wild shriek, I fled. You had better send me 
five hundred in your next, as I would like to try 
out the same scheme again, only with fifty thugs 
instead of a paltry thirty. 

Your affectionate son, 

TOM. 


The Elite Garage and Repair Shop 
562 Eighth Ave. 


Dear Tom: 

I got your letter whilst I am in the midst of 
makin out my annual income tax report in which 
I give the Eternal Revenue Department all of the 

[ 46 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


jack I made last year, on account of America 
winnin’ the war and bein’ gave the privelege of 
supportin’ all Europe and the prohibition en- 
forcement guys, as a reward. It says on the ap- 
plication that if you have any kids over the ages 
of eighteen you do not get no deductions for 
’em unless they happen to be mentally deficient. 
In case they are cuckoo, you are allowed $200 
off the bill for each maniac callin’ you father. 
Well, Tom, I am puttin’ in a claim for the de- 
duction in your case and I am pinnin’ your letter 
to my return to prove that I am entitled to the 
$200 off. That’s all I have got to say to you 
this afternoon. 

Your lovin’ ly father, 

PATRICK FRANCIS CULLEN. 


BOXING, POETRY, LOVE 

Hoorah College, 


Dear Dad: 

Well pater old dear and all that sort of rot, 
I suppose you have seen in the newspapers where 
we defeated Dumbell University in our first inter- 
collegiate boxing contest by the decisive score 
of five broken noses and three black eyes to one 
torn ear and eight badly split lips. The contest 
was replete (faculty stuff, pater) with knockouts, 
at least one featuring each bout. I was entered 
in the 2480 ounce class, or middleweight divi- 

[ 47 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


sion to be technical, and fought once, finishing a 
bang-up second — not banged up, as some of the 
papers have it. True, in some inexplicable man- 
ner I obtained a slightly torn ear, a rather dis- 
colored eye and my nose has the appearance of 
having foundered, if you know what I mean, but 
as Nero was often heard to remark, “One can’t 
make catsup without smashing some tomatoes!’’ 
eh, pater? I also notice in idly reading over the 
press accounts of the two-man Armageddon I 
personally took part in, the following distortion 
of facts: 

“In the fourth round, MacEinstein (Dumbell 
University), after hitting Cullen (Hoorah Col- 
lege) with everything but the ring posts and water 
bottle, tired of the sport and knocked his victim 
dead with a poisonous left swing to the stomach.’’ 

How perfectly absurd! I assure you, pater, 
that I was not killed outright, as one or even two 
would think from reading the above account. I 
admit that when MacEinstein’ s left thudded into 
my astonished mid-section and I slid gracefully 
to the mat amid the delighted applause of the 
witnesses, I did feel a bit ill. But there is quite 
a difference between the sick and the dead, pater, 
as for instance, take Battle Creek and Phila- 
delphia. 


However, pater, you perfectly priceless old 
thing, although I went down to glorious defeat 
in the boxing debate, I met two of the most 
charming girls in the wide wide world on the 
way back in the train. They are twins, pater, 
and strangely enough they are also sisters and 

[ 48 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


by a peculiar coincidence, they were both born 
on the same day. Fancy that! Joe Heehaw, 
our baseball captain, introduced me and to say 
the girls were delighted is putting it untruthfully: 
Oddly enough, pater, the twins both bear the 
same last name, viz., “Elkahall,” their first names 
being Ethyl and Methyl, respectively. Never in 
your life, pater, have you seen two people so 
identically alike in form and feature as these two 
girls. Why it’s so impossible to tell them apart 
that I’ll wager if Ethyl died they’d bury Methyl 
and vice versa, whatever that is. 

Anyhow, pater, the twins made room for Joe 
and I, or is it Joe and me? or I and — well, no 
matter, to continue — we sat in the seat facing 
them and I was favorably impressed at once by 
their demeanor. Both sat up stiffly and pulled 
their skirts down primly, covering their knees 
with maidenly modesty. They are twenty years 
old apiece, pater, and enterprising young busi- 
ness women, both being waitresses at Ptomaine 
Joe’s restaurant near the college and where from 
now on you will be able to find me after classes 
every day. I hope you will not hold their humble 
station against them, pater. Remember, Abra- 
ham Lincoln was once a rail splitter, yet he after- 
wards became president of the United States., 
Of course, I do not expect the girls will ever be- 
come president, but — I mean to say that if for 
example they ever get tired “dealin’ ’em off the 
arm” as they quaintly refer to their art, they will 
never starve to death as long as Flo Ziegfield 
continues to stage his Follies every year. I will 
not attempt to tell you how beautiful they are, 
pater, but suffice it to say that either one of these 

[ 49 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


girls would have made Solomon grit his teeth. 
The effect of them both together is therefore a 
bit eh — unnerving! 

In answer to Methyl’s inquiry regarding my 
somewhat disarranged features, the result of my 
recent boxing activities, I told her I had fallen 
down a flight of stairs and she remarked that I 
must have tripped at the top floor of the Wool- 
worth Building. This brought a merry laugh 
from one and all and to change the subject from 
the personal I remarked on a small volume of 
Charles Lamb that Ethyl had in her lap. 

“Do you like Lamb?’’ I inquired, pleasantly. 

“Oh, I ain’t crazy about it,’’ she answered, 
with a maddening smile. “Still and all it makes 
a good stew and ’* 

Joe Heehaw’s raucous laughter interrupted her 
and he turned his attention to Methyl. 

“No, no — you misunderstood me,” I said, “I 
refer to the book of poetry you have.” 

Oh, this here stuff? ’ said Ethyl, curling her 
delicious lip scornfully. “Say, if this is poetry, 
I m a Arabian duke! I tried to read some of it, 
but I don’t know what it’s all about. I found 
it on the train and that s where I m gonna leave 
it! As a rule, though, I’m very partial to good 
poetry. I got a whole scrap book full of, now, 
limericks home, like — eh — They was a young 
lady from Russia, who — well, you know how 
them things goes. But speakin* of poetry, it runs 
m our family. I got a cousin which lives in 
Greenwhich Village, New Yawk, and believe me, 

[ 50 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


that boy shakes a brutal pen and ink! He’s 
what they call a Futurist pote and every now and 
then he gets some of his pomes printed in The 
Free Love Weekly, which is published down 
there. Here s his latest — it’s called ‘Post Mortem 
Reverie.’ Ain’t it a nifty?” 

With that, pater, this remarkable and ravishing 
young woman handed me a clipping which 1 re- 
produce in full below: 

I’m the merriest corpse in the morgue 
I leap from slab to slab; 

The ice water trickles down my back 
And there’s nobody there to blab 
Ha, ha, there’s nobody there to blab! 

“Pick up the marbles, sister, you win!” I said, 
pater, handing back her cousin’s weird couplet. 
Well, we drew into the station then and we all 
separated. We made an engagement to go to 
the movies the following evening, both girls hav- 
ing received an invitation to take an automobile 
ride instead with a cynical quirk of the lip and 
the odd expression, “Don’t make me laugh!” 

Well, pater, there is no more news of a sen- 
sational nature and as I have an eight o’clock I 
will have to bring this missive to a close. Joe 
Heehaw has insisted on me coming out for the 
baseball team, so you had better send me at least 
a hundred in your next as I have got to get a 
uniform and you know how expensive gold lace 
is these days. 

Your affectionate son 


[ 51 ] 


TOM. 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


The Elite Garage & Repair Shop 

562 Eighth Ave. 


Dear Tom: 

Well, I was certainly a terribly blow to me, 
Tom, when I seen in the papers that you got 
knocked for a row of Chinese ash cans in the 
inter-collegiate boxin’ tourney. You bein’ my 
son, I naturally figured you was unbeatable, with 
the results that I laid 8 to 5 on you up and down 
the length and breadth of Eighth Avenue and 
now I am the laughin’ stock of New York and 
likewise 1 am four thousand fish in the hole. You 
big stiff, is they nothin’ you can finish first at? If 
you have made up your mind to turn your atten- 
tion to baseball up there, why you had better 
simply give one-man exhibition games by yourself 
as that seems to be about the only way you can 
win in any contest, unless maybe you can get 
somebody to play buttin’ heads together with 
you. There is one game in which you couldst 
beat the world! 

As for them twin Alcohol sisters, Ethyl and 
Methyl, which you have just met, all I got to say 
is look out for their twin brothers, Wood and 
Grain, which is travellin’ about the country now 
knockin all comers for a goal. Between you 
and the Blue Law guys, Tom, I am gettin’ so dis- 
gusted that I wouldn’t care if Prohibition really 
did come in tomorrow. As it is, they are com- 
mencin to enforce the dry laws right here in 
New York and pretty soon a man will have to 
walk five or six blocks before he can get a shot! 

[ 52 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


I suppose I am crazy to do this, as the guy 
said before jumpin’ into Niagara Fails, but I am 
enclosin here the with a hundred berries. I ex- 
pect this to last you til indefinitely at the least. 

Your lovin’ly father, 

PATRICK FRANCIS CULLEN. 

P. S. — Don’t write them biscuit shooters no 
letters with a mention of the preposition “love” 
in it, as I will not under no circumstances pay off 
if you get sued. 


AUTO INTOXICATION— MATRIMONY 


Hotel Egraph, 

Indianapolis, Ky. 

Dear Dad: 

Well, prepare for a shock, as the warden con- 
fidentially whispered to the condemned convict 
on the way to the chair, pater. I have so many 
things to put in this letter that I will probably 
have to send it by freight. So if you don’t re- 
ceive it, why you might inquire at the railroad 
station for it. Don’t forget to bring it with you 
to prove that I sent it. 

Shock number one, father, is that I am no 
longer an inmate of Hoorah College. I escaped 
last week with the full consent and warm, even 

[ 53 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


enthusiastic, approval of the faculty. In fact, 
Dad, they — eh — suggested it. I was sorry to 
leave in a way, particularly in a way such as I 
took my departure, but it shows what they think 
of me when they held special commencement ex- 
ercises for me alone, during which I was formally 
pesented with the Royal Raspberry and given 
the degree of G. O. O. F. Y. This is about five 
hundred degrees above Zero, pater, and next to 
Imperial Kleagle it is the highest degree ever be- 
stowed on a human being. Only three men in 
history have held higher degres and they are 
named Percy Q. Thermometer, Ignatius F. Centi- 
grade and Bosco Fahrenheit, respectively. 

As I was heard to remark before, padre, I was 
sorry to leave Hoorah College, but not near as 
sorry as they were to see me go. The cheering 
must have awakened people in Brazil. In fact, 
I was given a send-off fit for a king — one like the 
Czar of Russia got, for example. 

I will carry with me many pleasant memories 
of dear old Hoorah, papa, where I spent almost 
a full term as a Frosh and incidentally some five 
thousand smackers of your money, barely escap- 
ing getting an education by the skin of my teeth. 
While I failed to set the river ablaze on the track, 
baseball, football, boxing, hockey, basketball or 
toddle-top teams, I did manage to hang up an in- 
tercollegiate record while at Hoorah, by gradu- 
ating from college while still a Freshman. 

Shock number two, Dad, is that within a fort- 
night — whatever that is — I am sailing for the 
Sahara Desert where I am going to work in a 

[ 54 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


gondola factory. Either that, or I will join a 
friend who is going to South Africa to trap dia- 
monds. I will have to do one or the other, pater, 
or Ethyl and me will be the best dressed couple 
in the local poor house. I owe a bill at ye inn 
here, the total of which sounds like the round-trip 
fare by taxi to the Moon and if one dollar would 
buy the Atlantic Ocean 1 couldn’t purchase enough 
water to put in an eye-dropper. I haven’t even 
got the price of a postage stamp and in order to 
mail this letter I will have to wait until nobody 
is looking and then drop it in the mail box with- 
out the stamp. That brings us up to shock num- 
ber three. 

Shock number three, mon pere, is — eh — take 
a good grip on yourself, pater old dear, and re- 
member, no gentleman swears — shock number 
three is that I am a respectable married man! 
From a Bachelor of Arts I have become a Bene- 
dict of Parts. Eh — ain’t we got fun, eh, father? 

I take it for granted that by this time you have 
sufficiently recovered to continue reading, so I 
will proceed to the events that lead up to my 
sudden and unexpected graduation from Hoorah 
College and my equally sudden and unexpected 
leap into the popular pastime of matrimony. 


You may remember in my last letter, padre, I 
told you how Joe Heehaw and myself had met 
two of the most charming girls in the wide, wide 
world, viz, the Elkahall twins, Ethyl and Methyl, 
respectably. Both being waitresses at Ptomaine 
Joe’s restaurant and both being so beautiful that 

[ 55 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


either one would have made Napoleon forget 
about Waterloo. Father, there are either 650 or 
2500 students of the noted masculine gender at 
Hoorah College, garnished with about one or 
three hundred professors and inside of a month 
the breath-taking twins had 1 86 fraternity pins, 
50 class rings, 76 engagement rings, 2499 letters 
and 36 autographed diplomas. The co-eds were 
on the verge of suicide until your clever son broke 
up the combination by marrying one of the 
Heavenly twins. 

When I first met Ethyl, dad, I had no more 
idea that she would win me for a husband than 
you have of being mistaken for Gamaliel Hard- 
ing. Being young, handsome and of an arresting 
presence, I have naturally had the five or six hun- 
dred* 1 thousand affairs that every student is sup- 
posed to have at a co-educational college, but 
like measles, none of them were serious. But with 
Ethyl it was all different. Father, I haunted Pto- 
maine Joe’s and ate ham and eggs served by 
Ethyl’s fair hands until the sight of a pig or a 
chicken (of the cooking variety) gives me 
convulsions! 

Don’t think for a second, pater, that simply 
because Ethyl was a waitress that she is of poor 
family connections, social or otherwise. Her 
father. Wood Elkahall, became famous over night 
with his book on the care of hens’ teeth and her 
brother, Grane Elkahall, has been cheer leader 
for a correspondence school for the last 64 years. 
So you see, she means something. Joe Heehaw 
had the inside track with Ethyl for awhile, dad, 

[ 56 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


because his father is a well-to-do millionaire, but 
when Ethyl heard that my father ran a New York 
City garage, why she dismissed Joe Heehaw as a 
piker! 

But I will stop these ramblings, pere, and get 
to the events leading up to my marriage to Ethyl 
Elkahall and also my dismiss — eh — my sudden 
graduation from Hoorah College when my sen- 
tence still had three years to run. 

Well, the other night, Joe Heehaw, who be- 
came strongly attached to Methyl when Ethyl 
threw him over in my favor, suggested that we 
take the girls for a ride in his Sily Six. The girls 
were nothing loath, dad, and I was nothing loath, 
so about eight o’clock of a beautiful, moonlit eve- 
ning we climbed aboard Joe s long, low and 
rakish sportster, stepped on the gas and slid out 
into the open country. We had put somewhere 
between 20 and 150 miles behind us when the 
car suddenly came to a stop. The girls each 
allowed a beautifully modulated shriek to escape 
them, as the place we stopped at was a bit off 
the main road, very dark and heavily wooded. 
He could not have picked a better — eh — I mean 
to say — eh — well, at any rate, dad, with a muf- 
fled exclamation and a sly dig in my ribs, Joe 
climbed down, lifted the hood and puttered 
around with the engine for a minute. Finally, he 
looked up and shook his head. 

“I’ve lost the gaflunkus somewhere along the 
road!’’ he said, “I guess we’ll have to — eh — sit 
here and wait until another car comes along and 
maybe I can get a tow back to town.’’ 

[ 57 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


Dad, the girls looked at each other with a sort 
of meaning smile. 

“What I can’t understand,’’ remarked Methyl, 
after a pause, “is that every time I take an auto- 
mobile ride with one of you college guys, the car 
breaks down right at this spot!” 

“Yes,” said Ethyl, a bit grimly, I fancied, “but 
we always manage to get the car going again in- 
side of a minute! You might as well come back 
in here and start the motor, Joseph, it’s too 
late ” 

“Try it yourself,*’ Joe interrupted with a grin, 
“I’m not kidding — the motor has committed 
suicide!’’ 

Both Ethyl and Methyl tried the starter and 
the etc, father, but without avail. At length, 
Methyl walks over beside Joe, peers in under the 
hood, looks at him for a minute and then climbs 
back into the car. 

“Well, we’ll wait a few minutes and see if some 
one don’t come along,’’ she said, demurely. 

Dad, you must have been young yourself once, 
far ever away and long ago, and you can under- 
stand perhaps, the effect of the moonlight and 
the woods upon two young and beautiful nymphs 
like Ethyl and Methyl and two young and love- 
sick fauns like me and Joe. We talked about this 
and we talked about that and whispered sweet 
nothings into each other’s ears and a milk wagon 
coming along the road at 4 a. m. was the first 
thing to apprise us that the evening had indeed 
fled. 


[ 58 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


Well, father, we were now in a serious predica- 
ment and no mistake. In the first place, we can- 
not get into our dormitories after 1 0 p. m. and 
in the second place, both the girls lodge at Pto- 
main Joe’s and he watches them like a hawk, 
which by the way, is what he resembles. Wildly 
infatuated with — eh — both of the beautiful twins, 
he has threatened them more than once for going 
out with us. Here we are endless miles from 
town and the auto as dead as Colombus! What 
to do? What to do? 

“Well, Joe,” said Methyl to Joe Heehaw, “take 
those spark plugs out of your pocket, put them 
back on the motor and we’ll go away from here!” 

“What!” cried Ethyl. “Is that why the car 
wouldn’t start?” 

“Certainly,” smiled her charming sister, “I saw 
him take the spark plugs off the engine when we 
stopped that time. 

Sheepishly, Joe replaced the plugs, dad, and in 
about half an hour we rumble up outside Pto- 
maine Joe’s restaurant. It is nearly six in the 
morning and like the night before Christmas, 
“not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.’ 
Then the girls discovered that neither of them 
had a key. So as not to disturb their employer 
by ringing the bell, pater, I was endeavoring to 
break down the door when it was suddenly flung 
open and Ptomaine Joe stood before us, his face 
contorted with rage, jealousy and St. Vitus dance, 
with which he is afflicted. 

[ 59 ] 


The Ruhyiat of a Freshman 


With an oath that would have made a long- 
shoreman cry “Shame!” padre. Ptomaine Joe 
began reviling the girls for staying out all night 
with what he sacrilegously referred to as “A 
couple of them college dumbells!” This was too 
much for my overwrought nerves! I decided to 
protect Ethyl’s fair name and also demonstrate 
with one stroke the fact that a college boy can be 
as rough and tough as the next one, when forced 
to be by circumstances. 

“Don’t you dare speak that way to my wife!” 
I said easily, and knocked him flat with a well- 
timed punch on the nose. 

Joe Heehaw then reached down and dragged 
the unhappy restauranteur to his feet. Ptomaine 
Joe was in a state best described as “goofy,” 
father, and he gazed around wildly, seemingly 
not knowing what it was all about. Joe Heehaw 
shook him. 

“You know the way you just spoke to that 
other boy’s wife?” he asked, coldly. 

Ptomaine Joe nodded, dazedly. 

Well, sir, said Joe Heehaw, courteously, 
“don’t you dare speak that way to my wife, 
either! And, dad, he stretched Ptomaine Joe 
out on the ground again, with a beautiful left 
hook. 

The next day, pater, Ptomaine Joe had to go 
and blab to the faculty and that’s how I came to 

[ 60 ] 


The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


graduate from Hoorah College while still a 
Freshman. 

Oh, yes — I forgot about me being married. 
You remember in the first part of this letter, dad, 

I wrote that one night Joe Heehaw suggested we 
take the girls for an automobile ride? Well, we 
had just been married — the four of us — when 
Joseph made that suggestion. A bit romantic 
and that sort of thing, what? 

Your affectionate son, 

TOM. 

P. S. The beastly landlord has just rapped on 
the door of our love nest, father, and informed 
me that if I don’t pay my bill by the end of the 
week he will have me arrested. The bill is 
$387.50. If you will send the $387.00, pater, I 
am sure I can raise the fifty cents on Ethyl’s en- 
gagement ring. 

TOM. 


The Elite Garage & Repair Shop 

562 Eighth Ave. 


Dear Tom: 

When I first read your letter it took four men 
to hold me and it’s a good thing I can t throw 
a sledge hammer from here to Indianapolis, or 
you wouldst of passed away from concussion of 
the dome five minutes after I open the envelope. 

[ 61 ] 


ft 

The Rubyiat of a Freshman 


I am sendin’ you five hundred fish. Pay the hotel 
bill, pack your cigarette case and come back here 
as soon as immediately. If they’s no way out of 
it, bring your child bride with you. I guess you 
wasn’t cut out to be no college man, or anything 
else either, but maybe you are simple enough to 
run this garage and gimme chance to get a slight 
vacation. As for the matrimonial escapade, 
we’ll see about that part of it. Like as not I can 
get it cancelled on the grounds that you was 
cuckoo when you done it. I don’t even need a 
lawyer. I can prove to any jury in the world that 
you are crazy by simply showin’ them your letters! 

Yours father, 

PATRICK FRANCIS CULLEN. 





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